Gospel Story Finder

Amaru Anderson, 16, often reads the scriptures with her 8-year-old brother, Sebastian. She also takes time to answer his questions, and prays with him regularly.

“We’ve been reading Joseph Smith—History once or twice a week,” she says. “It’s mind-blowing how many questions he has at eight years old, and I love answering them. I feel like I know him so much better.”

For example, one time Sebastian asked Amaru: “How do you think Joseph Smith kept going if all these people were doing all these bad things to him and to his family? All those things were going wrong, and if he was so good, why were so many bad things happening to him?”

“It really touched me,” she says. “I know that adversity strengthens you, but here’s a little boy asking me this hard question. We always read before he goes to bed, and I stay up a little later to get ready for the next day. I thought about our conversation and realized that I understood more about adversity from answering his questions.”

One brother who had once been a prisoner of war had to withdraw money from his savings account—money which had been set aside for another special purpose. Then he learned of a pension for Canadian prisoners of war and found that he qualified. In fact, he was awarded the pension retroactively, and the cumulative amount was slightly in excess of the amount he had withdrawn to pay his building assessment.

Sister Batson, our Blazer leader, was preparing us to become deacons. She faithfully took us on monthly hikes. One hike was down a dry desert wash toward Lake Mead. Sister Batson stayed with the stragglers while five or six of us forged ahead. We were quite a distance ahead when we heard something. It was a baby rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. Rather than giving it plenty of room, we found some sticks and began poking at it. The snake took off across the desert. Naturally we took off after it, running as fast as our legs would carry us, chasing that snake. We cornered it against the side of a gulch where it coiled with its one rattle making as much noise as it could. We formed a semicircle around the snake, and on the count of three, we rushed it.
The first guy in and at the bottom of the pile was Malcolm. Suddenly he exploded out of the pile, throwing us everywhere, and started a panic run across the desert with the snake attached to his hand. We took off after him and succeeded in ankle tackling him. He was screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs, “I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”
We each took a leg and arm to pin him down so we could save his life. We then took out our trusty snakebite kits (which aren’t at all like the ones used today and not to be recommended). They consisted of several suction cups, a shoestring tourniquet, some antibacterial iodine, and a razor blade. The shoestring tourniquet didn’t seem big enough, so we whipped off our Scout belts and placed half a dozen tourniquets up his arm. We then stained his arm brown with the iodine. We decided that the suction cups were not good enough, and we would have to suck the poison out. We were arguing about who got to do the sucking and who got to cut him when Sister Batson arrived. She grabbed Malcolm, threw him over her shoulder, ran back to the van with us right behind her, and got Malcolm to the hospital in time to save his hand.
By the time I got home, my father had found out what happened. He took me to my room, sat me on the end of the bed, and said three words of profound meaning, “Son,” he said, “DON’T CHASE SNAKES!”

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be so dumb.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new in the neighborhood. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he had hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished painting words on the fence, Greg and a couple of other kids took their turns. Then someone handed the can to me. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I would either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I would rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I had done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I had done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I had planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what else was in store for me at home—Mom and Dad said I couldn’t go anywhere with my friends for six weeks!
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it when you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he would leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to tell you who they were.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence, but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other boys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark, I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I would have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No, thanks.” I turned and walked away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

The first day of my last year in high school, I felt lucky to discover that Alyce Pringle was in two of my classes. I say lucky because a class with Alyce meant a class with excitement. She was unpredictable. Alyce was Hollenda High’s school clown, a true comedienne who, with the raise of an eyebrow, could create hilarity. The teachers, therefore, weren’t very fond of her, but we, her classmates, love her. “Did you hear what Alyce did (or said) today?” people would ask each other in the halls. No one asked which Alyce. Everyone knew which Alyce it was.
Why Alyce began teasing me, I’m not sure. Perhaps it was because I was shy and blushed easily. She always mentioned my blushing, which made me blush more. Maybe it was because I was too serious for my own good. “Here’s Bill,” she would say. And she would mimic the way I pushed my glasses back, while reading a book. Maybe it was because she had found out that I am a Mormon.
One day when Mr. Jackson asked me to work out a problem on the blackboard, without thinking I put the chalk in my mouth for a moment like a cigarette. Alyce noticed it right away. “Bill!” she said loudly. “What will people think of a Mormon smoking?” I took the chalk out quickly and blushed as 25 students giggled. When I got back to my seat, I surprised Alyce by joking back. I faked a cough. Alyce liked that.
I didn’t really mind Alyce’s teasing. I had never received so much attention before, and it was fun and exciting. Alyce was not malicious in her teasing, she was never cruel. She never joked about people who were not present. Being teased by Alyce, I felt, was a compliment. Because we sat next to each other in one of our classes—algebra—we began talking once in a while before class. At first Alyce only joked, no matter what I said. But then later she became a different person, and I saw that Alyce wasn’t only a clown. I doubted that many people knew that. It was just when I thought Alyce and I might become fairly good friends, however, that I did something that almost ruined our friendship.

When my wife, Blanca, and I were married, the laws of Guatemala required that we be married civilly first. I didn’t like that ceremony—it said that we were married only until death. The next day we left for Arizona, though we had to sell some of our possessions to afford the trip. Being sealed to my wife in the temple for eternity was one of the most joyful experiences of my life.
But we soon discovered that we didn’t have enough money to return to Guatemala. When we went to church, a man shook my hand and left a U.S. $20 bill in it. Another man did the same. I had said nothing of our problems. But we had told Heavenly Father.
I was a stake president when the temple in Guatemala was announced. It was my privilege to help raise funds for the temple and prepare the people to be worthy to enter it. We were asked to raise U.S. $10,000. Children, young people, and adults all participated. The people of the stake were so enthusiastic that we raised about $27,000—almost three times as much as our goal.
When our youngest child, Daniel, was 11 years old, he told us he wanted a special gift when he turned 12. He wanted to go to the temple and be baptized for some of his ancestors. The whole family got involved in family history. We grew closer to our living relatives and found several ancestors whose temple work had not been done. On my son’s 12th birthday, he was baptized for these people. I performed the ordinances. Daniel gained a greater testimony of temple work.
As you can see, many of the best moments of my life have been spent in the house of the Lord. It can be the same for each of you.
Always remember that our Lord Jesus Christ loves children. When we read about His visit to the Americas after His Resurrection, we learn that He called the children to Him and blessed each of them. There are not many times in the scriptures when the writer couldn’t record the things that were said, but this was one of them. The words and the blessings were so sacred they could not be written. (See 3 Ne. 17:12–23.) Jesus loves you just as He loved those children.
I believe that my testimony was just as firm when I was 12 years old as it is today. You do not have to be a grown-up to have a testimony of Jesus Christ or to make a difference. Perhaps sometimes you don’t realize how much good you are doing for your parents, for your relatives, and for the world.

President Howard W. Hunter has great reverence for Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and all of Their creations. As a young boy he especially loved animals. One day, when he was about seven years old, he saw several older boys gathered around a large irrigation ditch near his home. He saw them throw a kitten into the water. Every time the kitten managed to crawl out of the ditch, the boys would throw it back in. When the boys left, Howard took the kitten gently in his arms, carried it home, and put it by the wood-burning stove to keep it warm. He fed the kitten warm milk and lovingly nursed it back to health. His family let him keep the kitten, and it became one of his beloved pets.

It was my first transfer as a senior companion in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission, and I felt like I was quite on top of my game. My companion and I had achieved what every missionary dreams of: we had found an entire family that was willing to have us teach them. The father, Hugo, was especially willing to listen to the gospel.
Hugo loved everything about the Church. He loved listening to our message, the Church members, and the scriptures. He and his whole family wanted to join the Church so badly, but he had to quit smoking first. My companion and I planned and prayed, trying to come up with a solution to help Hugo with his addiction.
One night, we were creating a plan with Hugo to quit smoking. He was discouraged and doubted whether it would be possible. I felt inspired to share with him a scripture that would later become one of my favorites: “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me” (Moroni 7:33). I asked Hugo, “Do you think that your baptism is ‘expedient’ to Jesus Christ?”
“Absolutely, Elder Ballard,” Hugo replied. “But I don’t think I can quit smoking.”
“The Lord promises you in this scripture that if you will have faith in Christ, it will be possible,” I assured him. We finished making our plan with him, which was a quick process that would eventually require him to stop completely, and he resolved to follow it.
Hugo quit smoking within the week and his whole family was baptized into the Church the following Sunday. I know that Hugo had found power in the scripture I shared with him.

Clarissa hurried from the Primary room when she was dismissed. She could hardly wait to show her mom what her Primary teacher had given her. She held the special card carefully as her eyes scanned the hallway for her mother.
“Maybe she is already in the chapel,” Clarissa thought. She walked in that direction and peeked into the chapel, which was filling with people for sacrament meeting. No, she wasn’t there yet. “Where could she be?” Clarissa wondered.
Then she remembered her sister Deseret in nursery. Maybe Mom was getting her. Clarissa went to the nursery room and smiled when she saw her mom. “How was Primary?” Mom asked.
“Great,” Clarissa said. “Mom, look what my teacher gave me!”
“That looks like a pass-along card,” Mom said. “What are you going to do with it?”
“My teacher said I should give it to someone who isn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Clarissa replied.
“That’s great, honey!” Mom said as they walked down the hall with Deseret to the chapel. “Who are you going to give it to? Do you know someone who isn’t a member of the Church?”
“Of course I do, Mom!” Clarissa said. “I want to give it to Margaret!”
Margaret was two years older than Clarissa. Clarissa saw her almost every week when her mom gave piano lessons to Margaret’s older brother and sister. Margaret would come with her mom to pick them up after the lesson. Clarissa liked Margaret a lot. She wanted her to know about the true Church of Jesus Christ.
“OK,” Mom said. “Why don’t we go to Margaret’s house after church and give her the card.”
During sacrament meeting, Clarissa carefully held the pass-along card in her hands. She looked at the pretty picture on the front. She knew the back gave instructions about how to order a free video that would tell more about Jesus Christ. She hoped Margaret’s family would order the video.
After church, Mom took Clarissa and Deseret to the car. They drove to Margaret’s house. Clarissa was so excited!
When they stopped at the house, they all walked to the front door. Mom rang the doorbell. Margaret’s mom answered. “Is Margaret here?” Clarissa asked.
“No, Clarissa,” Margaret’s mom said. “She is at a friend’s house. I’m sorry you missed her.”
Clarissa looked sadly at her mother. Margaret wasn’t there. She didn’t know what to say next. Luckily, Mom said, “Clarissa has a card that she wants to give to Margaret. It has a number that you can call to order a free video that tells about Jesus Christ. Is it OK if she gives it to Margaret?” Mom asked.
Margaret’s mother smiled warmly at Clarissa. “How nice of you, Clarissa. Do you want me to take the card and give it to Margaret for you?”
Clarissa nodded and handed the card to Margaret’s mom. As they walked back to the car, she had a warm and happy feeling inside. It felt good to be a missionary.

Some years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks told about a group of Boy Scouts who went cave exploring. The narrow trail was marked with white stones and lighted in sections as they went. After about an hour they came to a huge, high dome. Below it lay an area called the Bottomless Pit, so called because the floor of the cave had collapsed into a deep, gaping hole. It was hard not to jostle each other on that narrow path. Pretty soon, one of the bigger boys accidentally pushed a smaller boy into a muddy area away from the light. Terrified as he lost his footing, he screamed in the darkness. The ranger heard his cry of terror and came quickly. The boy let out another cry as the beam of the ranger’s light showed that he was right on the very edge of the pit. (See Improvement Era, June 1957, 444–51.)
In this story, the boy was rescued. But this does not always happen. So many times young people go to the very edge or even beyond it. With only a precarious toehold, it is easy to be seriously injured or even die.

Families signify responsibility to and for each other. This spring my seven-year-old grandson, David, called to see if I could come to his class’s spring concert because, he said, “I have a solo part.” It was on a Tuesday, my busiest day, but I promised I would try. On the day of the program, I was there, straining with his parents to identify our little David amidst the sea of faces framed by Mickey Mouse ears. David did have a solo; every child in the class had a solo. But the reward came at the end of the program when he bounded down the aisle saying, “Grandma, I knew you’d come.”

The duty of home teachers cannot always be satisfied with a once-a-month visit. They need to be caring and willing to serve as the need arises. I know of members of one high priests group who take tools when they go home teaching. We do not expect home teachers to be able to fix everything, such as computers and other highly technical equipment. They can, however, offer their wisdom and experience in assisting their assigned families to find the needed help. Caring home teachers should make appointments in advance, if possible. Aaronic Priesthood home teaching companions can learn lifelong lessons and be greatly blessed by serving with faithful Melchizedek Priesthood senior companions. Brother Robert F. Jex shares his faith-strengthening experience as a junior home teaching companion many years ago:
“My legs felt like gelatin and there was a knot in my stomach as we approached the door. I was sure that I was going to faint as my [home teaching] companion told me that this was my door.
“… I was a 15-year-old home teacher climbing the stairs to the apartment of Sister Rice, a widow living in the Bountiful (Utah) First Ward. Don Gabbott, my companion, was to teach me a great lesson that night about the nurturing role of priesthood bearers to shut-ins who are cut off from the mainstream of Church activity.
“Brother Gabbott had given me a topic to present to the five families assigned us, and I was frightened. … I [had] prepared … some notes on a paper, but I was unsure of how to take the lead in the presence of a high priest.
“The response to our knocking was slow. … I was about to suggest that no one was home. Then the shrunken figure of a frail, aged sister, came around a corner in the hallway. She seemed uncertain of what waited her answer at the door. Her face brightened as she recognized Brother Gabbott. We were invited into her living room and asked to take a seat.
“After a short greeting, Brother Gabbott looked at me as if to say, ‘Okay, Bob, it’s time to give our message.’ The knot in my stomach tightened as I began to speak. I cannot recall what I said—it doesn’t really matter—for I was the pupil in the classroom of priesthood duty and responsibility. As I glanced up from my notes at the conclusion of my remarks, my eyes fell upon the tear-stained cheeks of that sweet, sensitive sister. She expressed her gratitude for the presence of priesthood bearers in her humble home.
“I was speechless. … What had I said that had been so profound? What could I do? Fortunately, Brother Gabbott came to my rescue by bearing his testimony and asking if there were any needs in the home. There were.
“Sister Rice said that she had not been feeling well and asked that she be remembered as we offered our prayer before leaving. She then turned to me and asked if I would offer that prayer. By that time, I was so overcome by the spirit of the occasion … [and] surprised that I was asked to pray when someone older and more experienced and trusted was present. Automatically, I consented and offered a benediction upon that home teaching visit, asking that a special blessing of health and strength be given to that faithful sister whom I barely knew but quickly came to love and respect.
“Twenty-five years have passed since my introduction to home teaching in the home of Sister Rice, and she has long since passed away. But I cannot pass that orange-brick fourplex on Bountiful’s Main Street without thinking about the experience provided by Brother Gabbott and a faithful sister who knew the appropriateness of calling upon the powers of heaven embodied in an obedient high priest and an insecure, frightened teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.”

Bronwyn sighed deeply as she gazed out the window of the small thatched cottage. She had been idly watching Mrs. McKay across the street talking again to the two tall men. Mrs. McKay’s husband had died ten years ago, a year before Bronwyn was born, and the woman had to work hard to support herself and her five children. She left early in the morning and didn’t return until long after dark. Then the lights burned late into the night as she washed and sewed and cooked for her family. She seldom visited, but went her way unsmiling, wrapped up in her own problems. She certainly looked happy now, however. Suddenly Bronwyn realized that that was what was unusual about her neighbor—Mrs. McKay was smiling!
Bronwyn turned from the window, her thoughts again on Mam. Mam didn’t smile much anymore either—not since Dad had died two years ago. How different it had been then, with laughter, singing, and hugging.
Dad had worked long hours in the coal mine. He would leave early in the morning, while it was still dark, and wouldn’t return until long after the sun had gone down in the evening. In the Welsh mining towns of the 1840s, a man could go for months without seeing the sun, except on the Sabbath.
Oh, the sunshine Dad brought into their home when he was there!
Mam would begin supper, and Bronwyn would hop around like an excited little bird, knowing that soon her father would be home. Mam would work quietly at the fire, heating the delicious stew she made so well, while oatcakes were delicately browning to the side of the bubbling pot. Mam would be humming, and Bronwyn would set the table, fill the mugs with frothy milk, and cut thick slices of rich brown bread.
Finally Bronwyn would hear her father’s deep, laughing voice shouting farewells to his work companions, and the door would fly open. “Mair!” he would call, and he would lift his wife from the floor in a fierce embrace.
Bronwyn always waited in the far corner, for she knew her father would gently set her mother down, open his arms wide, and shout, “Bronny! Where’s my Bronny?”
And Bronwyn would race across the room and leap into his outstretched arms.
After supper Bronwyn and her mother would wash the dishes, and the rest of the evening would be filled with Dad’s booming voice as he danced Bronwyn and her mother around the room. Later, before Bronwyn fell asleep, she would hear her parents’ quiet voices as they sat at the kitchen table.
Then one evening there was a knock at the door just as Mam was starting supper. When she answered the door, she saw Mr. Walters, the mining foreman, standing on the stoop. Mam’s face turned white as she stared at the little man, and Bronwyn felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. She never took her eyes from Mam, and when Mr. Walters removed his hat and said, “I’m sorry, Mair, there was a cave-in … ,” Bronwyn saw her mother crumple speechlessly to the floor.
The next few days after that were a blur: neighbors coming and going, Mam lying on her bed as she never did during the day, food being brought in, and women taking Bronwyn in their arms and crying.
Bronwyn wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral, and when her mother came to pick her up at the neighbor’s house, Mam’s eyes were dull and her face had a pained look that never quite left it. In the two years since the funeral, Bronwyn rarely saw her mother smile.
“Bronwyn?” Mam’s voice brought Bronwyn’s thoughts back to the present. “Are you ready? We’re going to the chapel on Altwyn Street again.”
Bronwyn’s heart sank, but without comment she quickly tied her bonnet. How many different churches have we gone to this year? she wondered. She knew what her mother was looking for but so far had been unable to find. Bronwyn had heard a neighbor speak of it once to her mother: “Mair, it’s been nearly a year since your Iorwerth died. You’ve got to start living your life again. You should remarry, give Bronwyn a new father.”
Mam had sat serenely in the rocking chair by the fire. “I don’t need another husband, Mrs. Rees. And Bronwyn doesn’t need a new father. I have no doubt that we will be together again with Iorwerth in the next life.”
Mrs. Rees looked shocked. When she regained her voice, she spoke with terrible finality. “Mair Jones, wherever did you get such an idea? Didn’t your wedding vows say ‘till death do you part’?”
“Mam,” Bronwyn had asked hesitantly after Mrs. Rees had left, “is what she said true? Will we never see Dad again?”
Mam held Bronwyn so tightly that it hurt, yet Bronwyn felt a flood of relief when her mother whispered fiercely, “Don’t you ever believe that, Bronwyn. Ever! God would not allow so much happiness in a family, then snatch it away from us forever.”
And that was when they had started going to different churches. After meeting with a new congregation for a few weeks, Mair would find an opportunity to speak to the minister alone while Bronwyn waited outside. Sometimes her mother would be in there for a long time. Sometimes she would stride out of the church after only a few moments. But the outcome was always the same. Mair would come out, take Bronwyn firmly by the hand, and resolutely march home, repeating over and over, “They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong. We belong together.”
The Altwyn Street church was on the other side of Pontygwyn. As they trudged down the dusty road, their long, heavy skirts rustling against their shoes, Bronwyn asked, “Are you going to speak to Reverend Hugh today?”
Mair’s grasp tightened on Bronwyn’s hand. “I hope to catch him after the service.”
Mair wasn’t with the minister long. The determined look on her mother’s face as she emerged from the minister’s office answered Bronwyn’s unspoken question. And she wondered, Can all the ministers be wrong? Is Mrs. Rees right? Will we never be with Dad again?
Later that week, while her mother washed the clothes she had started taking in after Dad died, Bronwyn entertained herself by swinging back and forth on the front gate. She was so involved in counting how many times she could slam the gate without falling off that she didn’t see the two men turn the corner until she had swung against one of them and had fallen into his arms.
“Mae’n ddrwg gen i (I’m very sorry),” she gasped. Only when she got over her embarrassment did she recognize them as the strangers she had seen talking to Mrs. McKay.
“You needn’t be sorry,” the one with blond hair said, laughing. “It would be fun to swing on a gate again.” Ruffling Bronwyn’s long dark hair, he and his friend hurried on their way.
He talks differently than we do, Bronwyn thought as she watched them cross the street. He used the right words, but they sounded funny. She watched them knock on Mrs. McKay’s door and noticed her neighbor’s bright smile as they entered the house.
“Are we going to a different church today?” Bronwyn asked Mam the following Sunday.
“No,” her mother answered. “I thought we would take a lunch and go picnic by the river.”
Unable to believe her good fortune, Bronwyn hurried to help Mam pack some cheese and bread and boiled eggs into a small hamper. Soon they were striding down the road. It was a beautiful spring day, and Bronwyn was alive with enthusiasm. She would run ahead, dash back to hurry her mother along, then race off to the side to pick some wildflowers. And each time Bronwyn looked up at her mother and saw the relaxed flush on Mam’s cheeks, she wanted even more to dance with joy.
“It’s a good day, isn’t it, Mam?”
Mother smiled suddenly and answered, “Yes, Bronny, it is. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a very good day.”
It was then that they heard the singing. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but as they walked closer to the river, they saw a small cottage just ahead of them, and the music was coming from it. Curious, they approached and read the neatly printed sign to the right of the door: THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.
“What does that mean, Mam?” Bronwyn whispered.
Her mother shook her head slowly, and they both peered in through the open door. Perhaps a dozen people were now standing about, chatting quietly.
“Is this a church, Mam?”
“That’s what the sign says,” Mair answered, looking puzzled.
“It’s different from any other church I’ve ever seen,” Bronwyn said as she looked at the small cottage.
“Let’s go on,” Mair urged, taking Bronwyn’s hand. “Some of the people are beginning to leave.”
But Bronwyn had seen the two tall strangers inside, and she pulled back excitedly. The young men were coming toward them now, and suddenly—unable to explain why—Bronwyn very much wanted them to talk to her mother, to make her mother smile the way they did Mrs. McKay. “Wait, Mam,” she said urgently, “they want to talk to us.”
“Mair! Bronwyn!” To their astonishment, Mrs. McKay rushed over to them just ahead of the two young men.
Bronwyn suddenly felt shy, and her face reddened as the tall blond man knelt beside her and smiled. “Isn’t this the little gate-swinger?”
Bronwyn glanced up at her mother, who stood looking bewildered. “You know Bronwyn?” Mam asked.
“Mair,” Mrs. McKay was saying, “how strange that you would appear at the door like this! I have been telling the elders that I had a neighbor who very much needed to hear their message.”
“Elders?” Mam repeated.
The blond man turned to her. “I’m Elder Butler. My companion and I are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We have come all the way from America to deliver the message of Christ’s restored church.”
“They’ve been teaching me, Mair,” continued Mrs. McKay. “Let them talk to you too.”
“Mam, they’re nice,” Bronwyn added. “They make Mrs. McKay smile. Maybe they can make you smile too.”
Bronwyn took her mother’s hand, and they entered the small building with Mrs. McKay and the two young men. But Bronwyn’s heart sank as her mother said, “I have been to many churches, and none of them have been able to answer an important question to my satisfaction. Before we go any further, I want to ask you just one thing: Can Bronwyn and I ever be with my deceased husband again?”
Tears of joy streamed down Mrs. McKay’s face as Elder Butler answered kindly, “My dear Mrs. Jones, yes, you can. You and your daughter can be reunited with your husband as a family forever. Won’t you sit down and let us tell you about it?”
The look of peace that spread over Mam’s face sent shivers of happiness and excitement down Bronwyn’s back. And as she and her mother sat down to listen, she understood why this day was indeed a very good day.

David and Shauna Bond, parents of a formerly drug-abusing teenager, believe they were able to help their son end his drug abuse at an early stage in part because they were informed. Brother Bond was familiar with the signs of drug and alcohol abuse and recognized them in his son.
“When we discovered Mike was using drugs, I got anti-drug literature and told him he had to read it; then we would discuss it together,” says Brother Bond. “Mike thought he knew what it was all about, but he didn’t. Part of convincing him to stop was educating him to the dangers of drugs and letting him know that his parents were informed.”
Although there is, of course, no guaranteed treatment method, just as there is no guaranteed prevention, those three principles worked for Brother and Sister Bond. After recognizing their son’s problem, the Bonds acted firmly and without hesitation in a spirit of love. First, Brother Bond confronted Mike in a calm, loving way, telling him that any use of drugs in their home was unacceptable.
When Mike continued using drugs, the Bonds used every resource they could think of to get him off drugs and keep him off: They informed themselves about drugs; they communicated with school officials about Mike’s problem and asked them to report suspicious behavior; they searched for evidence of what Mike was using and who was supplying him; and they established rules for Mike and would not change them. All this was done with constant reassurance to Mike that the main reason they were willing to do so much was that they loved him so deeply.
“I just said, ‘Look, I love you too much to let this happen to you. You have a choice. I have a choice, too,’” says Brother Bond.
At one point, after Mike had said he wasn’t using drugs any more but his parents discovered otherwise, Brother Bond acted promptly and firmly.
“I asked Mike who was selling to him, and he wouldn’t tell me. I told him, ‘I’ll find out, and when I do, I’m going to prosecute him to the limit of the law. If it means I have to hire a detective to find out who’s supplying you, I’ll do it.’ I think Mike really heard that, and I don’t think he’s used drugs since then.”
Following through on a warning can be frightening for parents, who may fear alienating their already troubled child. Mike was furious at his parents for their intervention, and their relationship “definitely got worse,” says Brother Bond. But the temporary loss of communication was worth the end result: a drug-free son.

There were two young boys returning home late one afternoon. It was getting dark, and they should have been home earlier. Knowing they were in trouble, they decided to save a little time and take a shortcut by going through a pasture. The boys were well aware they were not to go into the pasture. The property was posted with “no trespassing” signs because of the presence of a large, mean bull. It was getting dark, and since the bull was in an area of the pasture where he couldn’t see the boys, they decided to attempt the shortcut. After they had crawled under the fence, and were about halfway across the pasture—at the point of no return—the bull spotted them and charged in their direction. The boys began running, but one of them stopped and said, “Wait, let’s kneel down and pray for help.” The other boy said, “If you want to stop and kneel down and pray, you do it, but I’m going to run and pray.” I don’t want to dwell on the “stop-and-kneel-down-and-pray” faith; I want to discuss the “run-and-pray” faith. I’ve always believed in that kind of faith. In James we read: “Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone” (James 2:17). President Harold B. Lee once said, “If you want the blessing, don’t just kneel down and pray about it. Prepare yourselves in every conceivable way you can in order to make yourselves worthy to receive the blessing you seek.” Sometimes we tend to believe that if we have enough faith, anything can happen without our really putting forth much effort, without doing all that is possible, or without “running as hard as we can and praying on the run.” The Lord expects us to do all in our power as we exercise our faith.

Study true principles. Both of us began marriage with a very low sense of self-worth, and we both tended to be loners. One night my wife invited in two elders from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because there was a blizzard outside and she felt sorry for them. I gained a testimony that the Church was true—despite my reluctance at first—and we eventually joined. As members, we learned that each of us is a child of God and that it is possible to improve ourselves. We accepted the fact that we were given weaknesses to learn humility and that our weaknesses could become our strengths (see Ether 12:27). This fact gave us the courage to continue on together and to study correct principles that have helped us make needed changes.
When, much later, I was called to serve as a bishop, I shared with many people some of the resources my wife and I had studied: principles from the scriptures, articles from the Church magazines, books I had read, and stories I had heard that showed how gospel principles can improve marriages. Every story was beneficial because each was based upon a gospel truth. These practical helps, experiences, and accumulated stories—added to scriptural insights—have enabled not only my wife and I but also many others to keep improving our marriage relationships and to enjoy being together. So much in the gospel is designed to improve our relationship with our spouse.—Robert N. Allen

Let me tell you about a young Laurel president who explained it this way: “I was called to be a class president of seventeen girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared of such responsibility. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted?

“I wrote seventeen names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names … I kept thinking and praying and [crossing off names] until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”

It is appropriate for her and for you to recognize and witness the power of the Holy Ghost as you seek inspiration concerning the calls you have received from your Heavenly Father through your bishop.

A few weeks ago our youngest son and his wife and family stopped to see us. The first one out of the car was our two-year-old grandson. He came running to me with his arms outstretched, shouting, “Gwampa! Gwampa! Gwampa!”
He hugged my legs, and I looked down at that smiling face and those big, innocent eyes and thought, “What kind of a world awaits him?”
For a moment I had that feeling of anxiety, that fear of the future that so many parents express to us. Everywhere we go fathers and mothers worry about the future of their children in this very troubled world.
But then a feeling of assurance came over me. My fear of the future faded.
That guiding, comforting Spirit, with which we in the Church are so familiar, brought to my remembrance what I already knew. The fear of the future was gone. That bright-eyed, little two-year-old can have a good life—a very good life—and so can his children and his grandchildren, even though they will live in a world where there is much of wickedness.
They will see many events transpire in the course of their lifetime. Some of these shall tax their courage and extend their faith. But if they seek prayerfully for help and guidance, they shall be given power over adverse things. Such trials shall not be permitted to stand in the way of their progress but instead shall act as stepping-stones to greater knowledge.

Otto leaped out of bed. “It’s St. Leonhardi’s Day!” he shouted to his sister. But Martha had already gone downstairs.
The kitchen stove provided a comforting warmth as Otto ran into the room. Martha was brushing her hair.
“When can we leave for the village?” he asked.
“Very soon,” answered his mother.
This was Otto’s favorite holiday. All week long he and his family had been busy preparing for this autumn festival held each November 6 in many villages of southern Germany. As patron saint of the peasants, St. Leonhardi is said to have once bestowed his blessings on the farmers, stables, and animals, especially the workhorses.
In Otto’s village a long procession of men on horseback or in horse-drawn carriages or wagons would wind its way up a long hill to an old church. There the horses and carriages would be blessed and sprinkled with holy water. This part of the celebration was called St. Leonhardi’s Ride.
As long as he could remember, Otto had ridden with his family in their farm wagon. Everyone took great pride in decorating their horses, carriages, or wagons. Garlands of flowers adorned the carriages and also hung around the necks of the groomed horses. The braided manes and tails of the animals were trimmed with ribbons. Otto had stood on a bench to brush their two large workhorses. He then helped Father polish the harnesses and scrub the wagon. Martha and her mother had woven beautiful Alpine meadow flowers into garlands.
At last it was almost time to go. Otto’s father brought the wagon out from the barn, but only Hans was hitched to it.
“Father, are you leaving Greta home?” Otto asked in surprise. Of the two horses, Greta was Otto’s favorite. She was so gentle that Otto often rode her bareback in the fields.
“Go see,” laughed his father.
Otto ran into the barn and saw Greta still tied to a stall. A garland of flowers was around her neck and a new saddle blanket was across her back.
“Greta looks beautiful,” said Otto. “But why are you going to ride her?”
“I’m not,” answered his father. “But I thought you might like to!”
Otto was stunned. His dream of riding alone in the St. Leonhardi procession was finally coming true!
“Thank you, Father,” said Otto proudly. “May I go by Karl’s house and see if he is ready? We’ll catch up with you.”
“Yes,” answered Father, “but hurry.”
Karl had his own small horse with a beautiful saddle, and he was starting to leave his yard when Otto rode up.
“You’re not riding that old thing are you?” Karl asked derisively.
“Of course I am,” snapped Otto. “This festival honors workhorses, not fancy riding horses.”
“Ha! But my horse can work too,” bragged Karl.
The boys had ridden only a short distance when they came upon a wagon that had slipped off the road. Two wheels were lodged in a ditch that was muddy from recent rains. A young man was trying to get his old horse to pull the wagon back onto the road, and an elderly priest was behind the wagon trying to push.
“Can you help us?” asked the young man.
“I’m afraid not,” answered Karl quickly. “Our horses have been groomed and we don’t want to get them muddy.” With that he rode off swiftly toward the village.
Otto could see a beautiful garland of flowers inside the wagon. They must also be going to the festival, he thought. “My horse can get you out,” he offered.
With the help of the young man and some rope from his wagon, Greta started to pull. Slowly she dug in with her strong forefeet and then her hindquarters gave her the power to move forward. As she lowered her head, the garland of flowers around her neck slipped off. Otto watched as the wagon wheels rolled over it. Another pull and the wagon was back on the road.
The old priest patted Greta. “You were kind to help us, and I’m sorry about the flowers and the mud all over your horse,” he said gently.
“That’s OK,” said Otto, trying hard not to sound disappointed.
By the time Otto reached the village, the narrow streets were crowded with horses, carriages, and farm wagons. The master of ceremonies and the burgermeister (mayor) were directing everyone into a parade-like formation. Otto and Greta were pushed in behind a beautiful carriage. The driver was handsomely dressed and wore a felt top hat trimmed with a green ribbon.
“Hey, Otto,” whispered Karl. “Greta’s a mess! You can’t be in the procession.”
Otto turned to see Karl riding up behind him. “Well, I’m in it and I’m not taking Greta out,” said Otto.
Just then the church bells chimed. It was nine o’clock and the procession began.
The master of ceremonies and the burgermeister led, followed by the town band stepping along smartly to its own music. The clopping of all the horse hooves harmonized with the music. Behind the band came the many festively decorated horses, carriages, and wagons. The women looked beautiful in their holiday costumes and their big braided buns clasped by silver hairpins. Many of the men wore rich brown dress coats and felt hats.
The procession marched over the bridge and up the steep slope to the small chapel high above the Isar River. At the top of the hill Otto could see the flower-decorated platform where several priests stood. He stared in amazement, for the guest of honor was the old priest whose wagon had been in the ditch!
As the procession slowly passed the platform, all were blessed and sprinkled with holy water. But as Otto and Greta approached the platform, the old priest held up his hand in a halting motion. The entire procession stopped! Everyone wondered why, since this had never happened before.
The old priest leaned over and picked up a beautiful garland of flowers that had been draped over his chair. Otto recognized it as the same wreath that had been in the young man’s wagon. Then the priest stepped off the platform and walked directly to Otto and Greta. Otto could feel his heart pounding. And all around him he could hear voices whispering.
The priest reached up and slipped the garland of flowers over Greta’s neck. “Bless you both,” he said gently and walked back to the platform.
The procession continued and then slowly started back down the steep hill leading to the market center, where the people all were to gather to eat and visit with one another. Later the young men would stage a contest in whipcracking, an ancient and highly respected art in Bavaria.
This year, however, the attention did not center on the whipcracking contest, for the people crowded around Otto and Greta to ask questions:
“Why did the priest come to you?”
“What did he say?”
“Why did he give your horse the flowers from his chair?”
“Why is your horse spattered with mud?”
Otto tried to answer all the questions and at the same time look around. But there was one person he could not find. Karl was nowhere to be seen!

Stopping by the mall, I found an adorable pair of jeans. I thought they were a little bigger than the jeans I usually wore, but they still looked stylish. I wore them the next day at school and at a wrestling tournament, where I had stepped in a puddle and splashed some mud on them. I even got a little food on them when I ate a snack.
When I got home that night, I realized that they did not fit me quite as well as I thought they did. I decided I would just wash off the spots and return them since they didn’t fit me properly.
As I headed to the store, I felt returning the jeans was not honest because the store expected the jeans to come back in original condition. But I pushed the prompting aside, returned the jeans, got my money back, and left the mall. As I drove out of the parking lot, I was overwhelmed with guilt. I prayed to Heavenly Father, asking Him to give me the courage to do what I knew I needed to do.
I drove back to the mall, entered the store, grabbed my pair of jeans off the shelf, and went to the cashier. Although I felt a little foolish buying my jeans back with the money the store had just given me, I knew I had made the right decision and that Heavenly Father was pleased with me. Every time I wear those jeans, I am reminded of my determination to be honest, no matter the cost.
Tierra P., Idaho, USA